“I, John, your brother and companion in tribulation”.

 

Late last night after the cubscout Blue and Gold meal at the church building, my father passed on to me 16 volumes of family correspondence that my grandfather typed out on his old antiquated manual “Royal” typewriter. I am blown away by some of the things that I am reading.

 

The first volume begins with Christopher C. Chesebro who was a prisoner on a ship in the Revolutionary War. This man is the great, great grandfather of my great, great grandpa on his mother’s side. He is my grandfather with 5 greats attached.

For generations, my family has known the fellowship of deep suffering. My great, great, great, great, great grandpa signed his name to this poem:

 

“Oh! land of rest, for thee I sigh,

When will the moment come,

When I shall lay my armor by

And dwell with Christ at home.

 

No tranquil joys on earth I know,

No peaceful sheltering dome,

This world’s a wilderness of woe,

This world is not my home.

 

Would at once have quit this place

foes in fury roam,

ah, my passport was not sealed,

not yet go home.

 

When by afflictions sharply tried,

I viewed the gaping tomb,

Although I dread death’s chilling flood,

Yet still I sigh for home.

 

Weary of wandering round and round

This world of sin and gloom

I long to leave the unhallowed ground

And dwell with Christ at home.

 

I was thinking that real comfort does not come from religious leaders who just sit in ivory towers, untouched by tribulation.